


Roses, Burning Together

by MyOhMandy, OpenWar (MyOhMandy)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Phantom of the Opera Fusion, Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M, Vampires, dark pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2020-12-27 07:28:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21115010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyOhMandy/pseuds/MyOhMandy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyOhMandy/pseuds/OpenWar
Summary: Ferdinand has just become a patron at the Palais Garnier in Paris, France, where young minds from all over Europe gather to celebrate the arts and engage in political intrigue. But there is more at stake than the sales at the box office of the next production as violent accidents, mysterious letters, and strange bewitching whispers and songs in empty halls collect together to prove a larger truth: The Phantom of the Opera is real, and he's taken a particular interest in Ferdinand.This is an AU based off of the film, musical, and book The Phantom of the Opera set around the characters of Fire Emblem Three Houses with one notable twist: this phantom is a vampire.





	1. Seedling

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is primarily happening because I'm obsessed with Musicals and my girlfriend and two best friends are all really into Fire Emblem and a joke once made can never be unmade...it's due entirely to the encouragement of the three of them that a joke my girlfriend and I made turned into an actual project. 
> 
> So, here we are! Enjoy the ride.

There were many mysteries, rumors, and secrets buried in the history of the Palais Garnier, beneath the polished golden wood that covered many of the Opera’s floors. From the main façade of Harmony and Poetry, bright and centered, to the Rotonde des Abonnés, which had sculptures of the zodiac overhead. Much of the Palais was old, though well maintained, and gilded or golden by nature. All of it was swept, polished, or freshly aired out when Ferdinand Von Aegir arrived. 

Ferdinand was young, in the blush of youth; his muscles well-formed and well used, his grace apparent and practiced, his mind sharp and keen. A student of the arts, or so he liked to fancy; since he was studying for a continuing degree relating to his father’s business in government work. A charming actor, or so he hoped, as his father’s petty insecurities about Ferdinand's image had prevented him from acting on any public stage. And a talented singer, or so his mother and dearest sister had told him repeatedly. 

He was, altogether, bright, kind, and naive to a fault. 

Lending his time and his coin to the opera company had been a suggestion of a particularly attractive ingenue of the theatre, Dorothea Arnault, who was as tartly cunning as she was genuine. Ferdinand had known her, though not closely, for several years, though she was not of noble birth and hadn’t begun classical training until she was in her late teens. She had appeared, as if from nowhere, in the social circles of all nobles who invested time or money in the arts, particularly opera. She quickly became the favorite of Signora Manuela Casagranda, a distantly Italian diva who had risen to the top of her profession on the basis of talent, hard work, and, (as she often liked to remind others) her looks. 

The previous Patron of the opera company had died rather suddenly from a heart ailment and his heir, a German princess, had yet to inherit the full control of her father’s estate and thereby forced to cease their long-standing patronage of the theatre. The princess was a close friend and rival of his and they had been raised nearby, all of which is to say that the two had a relationship very much like that of siblings. When Dorothea had first suggested he become a patron, they had immediately seen the social and personal advantages to the opportunity, and when she, the princess von Hresvelg, had confided to him about her inability to continue providing her portion of the patronage, he had immediately stepped in to provide for as much of the loss as he thought fair to account for. With him, he had brought the patronage of the von Hevring and Varley families, in part as to ensure both to performers and his friend the German princess that the company would be looked after, and partly to outdo the princess.

Today she was escorting him formally through the opera house. Her back was very straight and her eyes had become very cool and business-minded when they had left the cafe where they had met for breakfast to head to the Palais. She was short of stature and fair of skin, her eyes a pale soft lilac that turned hard as amethyst when provoked, her silver blond hair pulled back neatly. Her beauty was not the soft and gentle nobility of Ferdinand's, but rather a hard and porcelain beauty, like a brutal statue or an icy mountain's cliff. She had her soft side, no doubt, and was by nature a very kind if proper woman, but the burden of her nobility had made her wary even in her youth. It had been some time since he had last seen her. 

"The opera house at present is being staged for a production of  _ Diakopí, _ or La Division as it is billed in France, under my supervision and that of both the managers, Monsieur Ignatz and Monsieur Raphael, who I believe you have not met. They are near as new to us are you are,” she said, and then she paused, turning to look at him pointedly. “They have...very little experience with art, both of them come from merchant backgrounds. Madame Judith von Daphnel will be leaving us at the end of the week, we can only hope that the tensions between Signora Casagranda and Dorothea don’t grow more tense.” 

This surprised Ferdinand. “Tensions? I had always heard things were very amicable between the two of them! In fact, Dorothea spoke very fondly of her.”

But Edelgard had turned and was walking away, not looking at him. It was difficult not to be distracted by the splendor of the opera house. The ceilings were high and the hallways wide and grand; every surface sculpted, painted, gilded, or polished. His boots clicked lightly with each step, even as the nervous excitement continued to build in his chest. They went up several flights of stairs carpeted beautifully in plush red velvet, not the main staircase he had heard so much of, but ones that led instead to the box entrances. As they approached the entrance to box 5, she turned and gave him a very serious look. 

“The cast is very apprehensive about this change of hands, Ferdinand. The French don’t love Germans, and I’m afraid being my friend takes your name only so far. They’re apprehensive about Bernadetta and Linhardt, too. I know how excited you may be to show off their work, but you must proceed with caution.” 

Ferdinand nodded, digesting. “I understand, Edelgard, but with Bernie’s writing and Linhardt’s technical skills -- “ 

“I know,” She said firmly, and he was irked at her interruption even as she was agreeing with him. “That’s not lost on me. In time, they will come to appreciate it as well. I’m not telling you how to speak to them, and much of the next season’s success will have more to do with the new managers. But get to know them, use a light touch, at least at first.” 

Hearing Edelgard speak of a light touch to him seemed almost ridiculous. Edelgard was brilliant and diplomatic, but she was known for being stern and firm. 

“I am certain that we will all become fast friends. After all, am I not known for my charm across Europe?” She gave him a dry, concerned look. “Still," he amended, "I will endeavor to heed your advice...I know how much this opera company means to you, Hresvleg. I will not let you down.” his voice was eager but genuine. It was the former which concerned her. They stepped into the box, and she waited as he took in the view. 

Stepping into the auditorium of the Palais was akin to stepping into a separate world. Here, art and drama and music were the gods that reigned above; actors, musicians, and dancers were their priestesses, bishops, and pope; to stand in the auditorium of the Palais was to stand in the Vatican of theatre. The seats that hung above the main floor in three levels, the walls, and floors of the room were a lush vermillion red, the seats on the floor of the auditorium a darker shade of black blood. Each tier of seats had a gold barrier, which under the opulent chandelier was a fire of autumn orange. The ceiling around the chandelier was a breathtaking painting of winged and wreathed creatures, clasping hands, riding steads, blowing horns, and floating atop clouds over a blue sky. The stage was the biggest Ferdinand had ever seen, and on it were actors, dancers, and the like, all bustling about between rehearsal. Next to Ferdinand, the German princess was swelling with pride and sorrow. 

“Oh my!” he exclaimed under his breath, and Edelgard immediately turned to him and smiled. He was surprised that she let the sadness show, but the sight was as moving as it was honest. 

“Yes, it’s...a magical place,” she said. “You must help the new managers take care of it. Before I’m ready to leave it in your hands, there are some things I would like to discuss with you, such as the...tensions between Dorothea and Signora Casagranda. Things the new managers may not necessarily know about, and that Judith may not be eager to explain.” Her face grew serious. 

“Of course,” Ferdinand said immediately, though the fresh joy clung to his eyes like dew on grass. 

“The people here are very dear to me, Ferdinand. So if you think we can manage it, I’d like to stay. For a time.”

Ferdinand paused. “But surely you do not think I’m unable to handle my responsibilities here, Edelgard. If anything I’m just interested in being a part of the production, being on the stage, working together.“ His joy was like wilting roses. 

Edelgard’s face became serious. “It’s not your qualifications to judge theatre that concern me, Ferdinand, although those are certainly not what they might be. There are things you don’t underst--”

There was a loud noise from the stage followed by immediate shouts, jolting them from their conversation. They both turned abruptly to see one of the actors sprawled on her back, yelling and clutching at her leg. 

Edelgard disappeared as if made of smoke, running from the box, presumably to the backstage entrance. Ferdinand rushed after her. 

The situation on the stage had broken into a tumult of chaos by the time they had dashed to the scene. Edelgard pushed through the crowd of panicked actors and singers in heavy make-up and bright costumes, her voice and her presence demanding order. 

“Stand back! Where is Manuela?! What happened?!” 

Through the crowd they found a Frenchman sprawled on his back. There was a heavy bag of sand lying on the stage floor near his leg, which he was clutching tightly as he cursed. 

“Lorenz, it’s going to be okay,” A man was kneeling next to him, clutching him closely, his face a serious look of anger and fear.

“My leg is broken!” the man on his back cried, and Ferdinand could see it was true. A woman with sand-blond hair in an elaborate if somewhat unstable style rushed from the crowd after the man, immediately moving to look at the leg. She was dressed in only a gorgeous plush pink robe, and though her back was to him, Ferdinand knew her instantly. Signora Manuela Casagranda. 

“Is it broken?” Edelgard cried, but she wasn’t looking at the man on the floor or either of those who had rushed to attend him, but up, above their heads. 

“Yes,” Manuela Casagranda stood, turning to look at Edelgard with deep concern. “Has someone been to see a doctor?”

Everything has happened so swiftly Ferdinand could hardly keep up. A doctor was being summoned. Around them, actors and stagehands were whispering or crying or cursing. Ferdinand had longed for so many years to be on the stage, he could hardly believe the cruelty of the circumstances that brought him here now. 

“But how did this happen? Who is responsible?” he cried, his face deep with concern even as he rushed to help take the fallen actor from the center of the stage, the concerned friend supporting him from the other side. The crowd was clearing for them, and Manuela was leading to a dressing room where the man could wait in more comfort for the doctor. Edelgard was behind him, shouting firm commands to the crowd on the stage. Suddenly there was a familiar face to his right. 

“Thea!” he cried. Her face was flush with fear. From his left side, the injured thespian was cursing and groaning in pain. 

“Oh, Ferdinand,” she said, her voice awash with horror. “Is Lorenz–”

“The ghost,” The man supporting the actor’s other side interrupted as they entered the dressing room, Edelgard shutting the doors hurriedly behind them. They laid him on a long plush red couch. His face was pale as milk. 

“Don’t speak such nonse–” Edelgard began.

“It was the ghost!” Lorenz spoke up loudly, though he looked weak enough to faint. “First those notes and now – “

Everyone in the room knew something that Ferdinand did not.

“The ghost? What ghost?” 

The door behind them burst open and a short, red-haired woman rushed in, a doctor’s bag on her arm. 

“Everyone, please move,” she commanded. 

Everyone obliged, except Signora Casagranda, who was fussing over the leg of the man’s long trousers, ripping them to show the break. The skin was bruised and the area was already swelling. Ferdinand could see where the break had happened. 

“All of you, out! Claude, Manuela, you can stay,” she said. 

And in the next instant Ferdinand was outside the room’s heavy dark wooden doors, wondering what on earth had happened. 

“What is going on?” he asked, looking from Dorothea to Edelgard. 

Dorothea’s face was flushed and fearful, Edelgard’s cool if uneasy. Dorothea spoke first.

“It was the opera ghost.” 


	2. Rumors

“I’m not sure that’s appropriate,” Edelgard said, her arms crossed in front of her. Her expression was serious and thoughtful. “Don’t misunderstand me, Ferdinand, I know you want to be a part of everything the French are doing here but you are more likely to alienate them than to impress them .”

Several hours had passed since the incident; Edelgard, Ignatz Victor, and Ferdinand were gathered together in the new manager’s office as his partner, Raphael Kirsten, waited to learn more about the state of the injured party, and inquired as to the nature of the accident. 

“I’m sure Ferdinand didn’t mean to insert himself among the cast,” Monsieur Victor said lightly. “But we need to find a replacement. We have some time before the full production commences but at the end of the week, we were meant to celebrate to see the former managers off! Lorenz had several scenes prepared for the show! And we had a full house! How will we manage?” 

“There are things about the Opera House neither of you understands, yet,” Edelgard replied firmly, not answering a single question. 

“I am confident I can aid in filling the scenes,” Ferdinand interjected. “Even if it is not the main part, I am sure I can be of assistance. I would audition. As anyone else might, I expect no favors, I will practice until I yield perfect results!" 

Edelgard leveled him with a thoughtful stare. "We'll comb through the cast for likely replacements. If you can outdo them, Ferdinand, the part is yours." Her voice was firm, and it brokered no argument. “I have much to discuss, much to arrange," She was making to leave before either of them could stop to point out that the authority was not hers to make such calls. 

“I do as well. But tell us, Miss Hrestvelg, what is all of this about a ghost? A superstition of the corps de ballet? I want to know all I can about this incident.” 

“The ghost is no superstition,” she said firmly, and her eyes boor into poor Monsieur Victor's like coals. “The threat is real. If the ghost is behind this, we must all look to see where we may push back and where we must concede. But I would advise both of you to mind yourselves. It is the business of a manager to pass on the manager’s duties, so I will leave all of that business to Judith. Ferdinand...” she turned to look at him, her face grim and very serious. “I'd ask you to come with me. To finish our discussion from before.” 

* * *

  
  


“A ghost?” he asked. “What exactly is it we are talking about here? Strange sounds at night, strange happenings behind the stage? Or is it more serious than that?” Ferdinand did not believe much in the danger of ghosts. They might be real, perhaps, but dangerous? Hardly so. More than likely he thought it was simple chatter, fostered among the cast and crew of the opera house. Or, perhaps, someone displeased with the politic of the company’s theatre.

“We should not speak so openly,” she replied evenly. “I didn't think that the ghost’s actions might precede my warning, I don't like this.” 

Ferdinand trusted her enough not to argue. She led him into a hall, and, after glancing either way around them, seemed to have opened a door that had not been there moments before. She struck a match and immediately began lighting the gaslights. It was a small room, and inside it was items from old sets, costumes, dried out containers of paint. It did not seem as though the room had been used in some time. 

She closed the door behind them and looked him full in the face. 

"It's not safe to speak of him too openly," she said very quickly, her voice very low. "Phantom, ghoul, or spectre, I can't say. He is a lonely creature, and old, but he is loyal."

“Loyal?” Ferdinand asked, taken aback. “Do you know him? Have you seen him?” 

“He sends us letters, notes. When he is gravely displeased, or he thinks there is blood for us to let. The demands seemed simple enough at first, but – I don't know how well he's taken this displacement. He is not something to be trifled with idly, Ferdinand. He is everywhere, and nowhere. You will not catch him as a cat catches a mouse. He is no mouse. He is a demon.” her voice was serious and weighed with concern. She seemed to be saying less than she knew, but every word was spoken with concern and diligence. Edelgard von Hresvelg was a woman above her years, and anything that concerned her might be a concern to anyone. 

“What blood has he lent? What are these letters you speak of? Does he terrorize you? We are the brightest diamonds of Germany, who could dull you? You say he is everywhere, but I do not see him now.” Ferdinand was a mix of confusion and idle disregard. Once accident and several questionable letters did not make a demon. No mouse indeed, but if it were real, he would catch him. “Is this the true reason why you are leaving? If so, why come to me?” 

Edelgard had one hand on her forehead. “I won't waste my breath trying to explain the wind to you, or the sun, or the night. In truth no one person here could say to understand him. Perhaps I still know slightly more than any of them, but he is guarded. You don't have to fight him, or despise him, or catch him. He likes the music.” she said, looking somewhat angrily at the disregard she sensed in him, who had been her lifelong friend, and whom she knew as well as her own self. “You see, he is like a bat waiting in the rafters. If we don't incite him to attack us he won't."

"Lorenz Gloucester might disagree," Ferdinand said pointedly. 

She winced. "The situation with Lorenz is more complicated than you think. He can do much worse, and he didn't. Do not step idly over my words. Have me by your side, don't bid I go home so soon. Act if you must, but if he calls on you, heed him.”'

"Complicated?" Ferdinand asked, taken aback. 

"I'm not asking you to understand yet, I'm asking you to trust me. Can you do that?" 

Ferdinand considered her. He gave a nod. In him, Edelgard saw so much of the naivety of youth, so much of that unknowing. In her, Ferdinand was seeing the secrets wrapped around her like silk. Both were keeping something from the other.

“I will give you my word, then. Not to disregard you.”

“And I take it,” she paused. “If he comes to you do not fight him.”

“What?” he asked, affronted.

“If he comes, don’t try to face him. Run.” she said heavily, and swept from the secret room. Ferdinand stared after the spot where the door disappeared into the wall as she left, his mind a whirl with the mystery he was seeking after. He did not linger long, however: whether it was the simple peculiarity of the situation or some greater, darker force, he could not bring himself to remain in the room. He had the feeling of sinister eyes upon him. 

* * *

Ferdinand was currently staying in an apartment lent to him by Edelgard, having none of his own in the city.  She kept odd hours but a well-made home; she had brought very little of an entourage with her to Paris, or perhaps some of her entourage had simply gone on their way. He knew that she had been traveling with a foreign princess, a Bergliez – he thought he knew which one – and a half German noble, youngest child of a French diplomat, and was known to be well-traveled and very flighty. He ran into none of them in the apartments, though truly since Edelgard’s family owned the entire building in which he was staying, he found it not unlikely that they were perhaps, simply running against his schedule.

Dorothea was also living in the building, discovered soon, more by the simpering admirers that sometimes attempted to cluster around the guarded doors of the building. Ferdinand had gotten into quite a situation with one of them once while attempting to explain the noblest and proper way to secure a woman’s attention.

In securing Dorothea’s, he had little trouble. He attracted fanciful glances wherever he went, and his voice was music to any who weren’t forced to listen to it, at length, during one of his “explanations”. She even offered to help him practice run lines. He took her up on this offer immediately – taking on after one so experienced and confident could hardly sour his chances – and within the week talk of the two was on the lips of many gossip mongers of Paris. Since they lived in the same building, and she had taken to helping him practice for the generous role at the end of week celebrations his audition earned him, they often came and went to the theatre together, and took their meals together, so it was very natural that they be seen around. Though Dorothea too often kept strange hours, and it was not uncommon for him to return home to answer letters, practice his studies, or take simple rest only to hear Edelgard or Dorothea return late into the night, once or twice even together. 

The performance at the end of the week was a series of scenes; songs, ballets, operas, that allowed the talent to showcase themselves properly in a way that was directly thankful to the work of the former managers and their former patroness. Ferdinand's part involved to recite and perform a selection from Milton’s  _ Paradise Lost _ and Gounod’s  _ Faust _ : the first as a scene to be acted and the former as an operatic piece to be sung. In Paradise Lost, he is Adam, young, uncorrupted, with eyes wide and too trusting. In  _ Faust, _ he is Valentin, the brother of poor Marguerite, who Faust seduces and ruins. 

Lorenz, he learned soon, would have played the young Faust. Claude stood in his place, and their scene went smoothly and beautifully. There were scenes from German, British, Russian playwrights and the like of it throughout, but, Thea and Manuela were all the stars they were said to be. His heartfelt heavy and full when Thea performed, as did those of everyone around him. So when the curtain fell, Ferdinand rushed to find her, who had tutored him in so much of his work. 

Behind the heavy lush red curtain, actors and dancers in glittering and stunning makeup were all filled with the rush of a perfect show, and their joy seemed to reflect off of everything. Dorothea was at the center of attention so fierce he knew to try and fight his way to her now would be pure folly, so he went back to his dressing room, where he stripped off his makeup and costume and hurriedly went to procure flowers for the lady who he now felt so endeared to. 

It was on his return, attempting to locate her room and herself inside of it, that he found his first instance of trouble. The flowers were sprouting out of his hand, their smell as beautiful as their promises of life, of spring and growing promise, his hair freshly managed, his skin glowing with youth and joy, when the half-German noble he had been sure had at one point been attending Edelgard appeared, as it turned out she was one of the more prominent members of the _corps_ _de ballet_. It hardly would have been appropriate for a noblewoman such as herself to do such a thing in Germany, but after all, this was France, and she was half French, and few knew her true name. They came across each other on his way. 

“Yes, I just saw Dorothea head back there,” She said in a very ponderous tone as if she didn’t know. “But she likes to have some alone time after the shows. You’re better off waiting until the morning, I bet she’s exhausted! Ever since she started up lessons with her new teacher last year, she’s been working harder and harder every day!”

“I will not make myself a burden,” Ferdinand assured. “I simply wish to pass along my thanks and congratulations.” 

The girl, who’s name was Hilda, eyed the flowers in his hand. “Alright! But please don’t go causing any trouble. That’d be  _ so _ annoying,” she said, and then she was gone, the smell of sweet perfume trailing after her. 

He went to stand outside of the door that had been indicated to him. He’d never been inside. He knocked and waited patiently. There was no answer. He knocked again. Hilda had said that Dorothea had jus–

He nearly dropped the flowers when he heard it – there was a voice inside of the room, a man’s voice. Ferdinand paused, his face instantly reddening. If Dorothea was with a man in her dressing room, she’d  _ hardly _ want him outside of it, listening. 

Ferdinand took a moment to decide and then retreated, uncomfortable but amused. Of course, Hilda would warn him away if there were already a man inside...! 

He was so lost in thought on the matter, curiosity allowing his mind to wander, he nearly ran directly into Edelgard. 

“Oh, hello again,” She said in surprise. “What brings you so far away from the revelry? Don’t tell me you’ve already grown tired of being appreciated,” she teased.

“Ah – I was, uh,” he reddened again. “I was just going to congratulate Dorothea on her performance, and to thank her, but she wasn’t alone.” 

“I see,” Edelgard said, and her eyes were on the flowers very suspiciously. “I could pass those along.”

Ferdinand did not like her suspicion, but he gave the flowers over easily. 

“Everyone is celebrating, saying goodbye,” Edelgard said before they parted. “You should go to join them. You were outstanding,” her hand was firm on his shoulder as she said it, so familiar they might have been made of the same blood. 

He thanked her in a mix of pride and excitement; he did return to festivities for some time, and because he had acted in the performance he could weave between the higher echelons as expected but was also free to join with the actors. It was a separate world from anything he had known before. The champagne was full of their promise and their talent and their success, the wine was the fruit of their labors, the spirits were the gift of more on the horizon. With such merriments being so freely traded and offered off, it was hardly any wonder that even a man as (self) esteemed as Ferdinand von Aegir might leave the festivities in something of a drunken haze. 

He might have easily taken a carriage, but that seemed such a waste. He might have stayed longer, might have gone in search of Edelgard or Dorothea again, or kept company with those heavy eyes from such as Claude or light as Hilda, or perhaps even stopped to engage more with the other performers. He might have stopped to speak to his dear friends Bernedetta Von Varley or Linhardt von Hevring, both of whom he knew must have been loathed to attend a party, but he had felt, rather suddenly, the compulsion to leave and take a brisk walk, so he had left to take a brisk walk.

It was beginning to grow cold along the streets of Paris. Winter was crouched over Fall, waiting to swoop in and rip out blankets of soft snow and winter winds. He was walking along the dark streets away from the opera house, his eyes down on the stone before his feet. He began to sense, not for the first time since his arrival in Paris, that he was not alone: he felt the hair on the back of his neck rise, but something in him did not allow full panic. It was as if his worry was a book of matches under a drizzling sky, each light of fear being snuffed out under the small droplets, again, again, again. 

At length he became certain. Footsteps behind him, sometimes ahead of him or even next to him, until he was standing with his back to the wall in some small forsaken alley, his head a mass of fog. Something was pressing him back there. The stone behind him was cold, but so was the thing pressing against him. It had a voice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day late but I'm heeeeereeee! Work and life and laziness etc.  
I hope you're enjoying!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on twitter or tumblr at @alessa737 and ourdeathswillstopnothing [respectively]!


End file.
